Finding Justice
by sherlostor
Summary: Sherlock believes John to be dead, and he will stop at nothing to bring the killer to justice, even if it costs him nearly everything.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Sherlock was smoking again. He needed stimulation. Distraction. He told himself that he was fine without John, but the flat was so empty now. At times, he would yell for John to come help him. He would wait a while, thinking to himself that he would eventually show up. The logical part of his brain, the part he most cherished, told him John would never come. But the other part, the part he normally suppressed, was telling him not to give up.

He knew John was dead. There had been an exhaustive investigation, with the police involved and everything. Sherlock had determined quickly that the chances of John being alive were nil. The blood of John's armchair and the pattern by which John was dragged were obvious signs. Sherlock could only focus on one thing now. Finding the killer. All possible clues seemed to be led nowhere, and the killer must have been very meticulous.

Sherlock couldn't get excited about playing games with the killer anymore. He just wanted this case to be over. He just felt empty. He should have known someone was going to kill John. How could he have missed it?

Sherlock was currently lying on the couch, smoking what must have been his tenth cigarette today. His mobile was ringing, but he didn't want to answer it. He didn't like talking to people anymore. He refused to even speak of John as dead. He knew that he must leave the house at some point soon, and seriously start his investigation, but he also knew that as soon as he started it he would have to talk to people again.

People who tried to sympathize with him made him absolutely sick and they would never understand what John had meant to him. Even the death of his parents hadn't affected him like this. He blamed himself for the death. John must have been killed because of him. It was the only conceivable option. Sherlock knew John well enough to know that he didn't make enemies.

_He was the perfect doctor_, he thought, blinking a few times, refusing to cry. He sighed. He knew it was time for him to finally start on this case. He already had a few leads, simply by reading the papers and doing some web searching. There he would start. The police advised him not to get involved in the case, but Sherlock never listened to them.

He wanted justice to be served. He got up off of the couch and walked over to the drawer, opene it and pulled out John's gun. He then walked to the countertop where his gloves and scarf lay. Something about his scarf made him feel extremely angry and he threw it down. He didn't like the familiarity of it. The way it just laid there, being static. The way it always was. Things were not the same now.

They would never be the same.


	2. Chapter 2

_Hey guys! Sorry it took so long to update my story. I had finals week right after Thanksgiving. Hopefully I will be able to update this more often now. Thank you all for the support. Each review is much appreciated. _

Chapter Two

Sherlock was outside for the first time in days. He looked at the people around him in silent disgust. Everyone just seemed so normal; so happy. He didn't want to see anyone happy. He knew it was selfish of him to feel this way, but he didn't care. John was dead. Sherlock knew his life was fine before John, and he kept telling himself that it would be fine without him. Yet, he knew that he felt like a part of himself was missing.

While walking, Sherlock began thinking through a list of possible suspects in his mind. Sherlock already ruled out the obvious: Moriarty. Though Moriarty loved to make Sherlock squirm he knew that if it was, in fact, Moriarty he would have heard from him by now. He wished it had been Moriarty. Then John would probably be alive somewhere. Safe.

Sherlock narrowed it down to just a few cases where he felt that the person he had brought to justice would feel vengeful towards him. He would have to start there. He considered the possibility that it was someone he did not know, but he would have to do more investigating to figure that out. He knew John didn't make enemies. Sure, not everyone liked John, but he had never met someone completely opposed to him.

Sherlock started to wonder whether or not he should try to contact Lestrade about this case. Lestrade had useful information involving his last cases, yet at the same time Lestrade was one of the last people Sherlock wanted to see. He knew not why, but he desperately wanted to avoid anyone that he had ever felt slightly close to. He would never admit it out loud, but he had grown to respect Lestrade sometimes. Sometimes. He could still be quite the idiot, but Sherlock also thought that the police would be a little worse for wear without him.

He wished he could send John to Lestrade. _No_, he thought, _I can't keep thinking like this. I need to just focus of the work. Only the work. I will go to Lestrade, because it will benefit me and it is only logical. _Sherlock knew that he must stick close with logic now, for he felt that it was one of the only things he had left and he already felt it slipping from his grasp. This is why he hated emotions; they always interfered with everything.

He hailed a taxi, got inside, and told the driver his destination: the police station. He looked out the window as he was driven, completely in silence. He couldn't help but think of the first case that he worked on with John which involved a murderous taxi cab driver. He knew from that case that John was the perfect complement to him in many ways, and he was impressed with John's ability to perceive danger. The driver had tried to make a conversation, but Sherlock made a point of quickly ending the driver's hopes of having an enjoyable car ride.

When he reached his destination he gave the driver the necessary money and stepped out of the taxi. He pretended not to hear the taxi driver say good riddance as he drove away. Sherlock stood for a moment, staring at the police station, before going inside.


End file.
